


the burning heat upon my back

by Ro29



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (Thanks Tatooine), (thanks sheev), Aftermath of Violence, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Anakin Skywalker's Terrible Childhood, Brief mentions of canon-typical gaslighting and manipulation, Canon Compliant, Clone Troopers - Freeform, Fialleril's Amatakka, Gen, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Bombs and their aftermath, Minor Character Death, Names, Tatooine Slave Culture, The Clones Need a Hug, Timeline What Timeline, Trauma, War is Awful, a bit of body horror, references to slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ro29/pseuds/Ro29
Summary: They’ve won the battle, all that’s left now is the clean up.or, bombs and their aftermath will always bring Anakin back to the twin suns of Tatooine
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & CT-1403 | Mav, CT-6116 | Kix & Anakin Skywalker, CT-7567 | Rex & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 19
Kudos: 287





	the burning heat upon my back

**Author's Note:**

> All credit for Tatooine's Slave culture and language goes to Fialleril.
> 
> This was a little side project I was messing around with to get the feel for writing Anakin.
> 
> It was _supposed_ to be hurt/comfort. 
> 
> It got a bit out of hand :(
> 
> This takes place sometime at the beginning of the war but fuck if I know when.

He always forgets, even now, after so long away from the burning heat of the twin suns, how different it looks when the bomb is outside of the body when it goes off.

The trooper is still alive, his legs are gone and the sight is bloody and gore filled. And the noises the trooper makes are wretched little sounds, filled with pain and horror and the knowledge that he will not live after this.

It sinks under Anakin’s skin, reaches down deep into him, to the part of him that is sand, and desert wind, that knows the burn of twin suns and the claw-like grip of bondage. The part of him that remembers the fear of a bomb under his skin and cruelty all around him.

They’ve won the battle, all that’s left now is the clean up.

Anakin reaches past his shields for the ever present, deafening roar of the Force, feels for the troopers Force signature, the one that every living thing has, and feels something in him still.

The trooper is still alive, and you can survive losing limbs, and Anakin would fight with everything he has to keep anyone from trying to ship his men back to Kamino, would fight to protect him and build the best prosthetic limbs he could manage—.

But the Force around him sighs sadly and the trooper is slipping away already and Anakin grits his teeth.

He makes his way through the cooling bodies of dead men, not all of them intact—most are missing some vital part of their body, some of them are only identifiable as bodies because of the ruined pieces of armour, there’s too much blood—distantly he can hear someone throw up.

He can’t focus on how the others, the survivors, are handling seeing their _vode_ like this, because the trooper is still alive, still breathing and crying and bleeding and practically screaming _pain-hurt-please-don’t-leave-me-I-want-to-live-please-it-hurts-it-hurts-so-much_ into the Force so loud it burns.

Anakin kneels beside the man’s head—he’s kneeling in the blood and guts of another _vod_ and Anakin Skywalker burns with rage and guilt because he’s failed them, all of these _vod_ who did what they were told to do and paid the price for it—and the trooper is a shiny, has to be to have armour so devoid of any blue. New to the 501st for all that his armour is no longer that shining white, covered instead in dust and dirt and blood, scorched and stained with death instead of the familiar 501st blue.

The man hasn’t noticed him yet, too gone from pain. Anakin moves gentle hands towards him and removes the ruined helmet from the shiny’s head.

There are no distinctive marks, no tattoos, nothing to mark him as his own person, nothing to show who he is.

(The little boy from Tatooine snarls and spits inside of him.)

A hazy awareness makes itself known from the man through the Force, breaking through that mantra of _pain-hurt-please-don’t-leave-me-I-want-to-live-please-it-hurts-it-hurts-so-much_ just the littlest bit. Eyes, glazed over from pain and blood loss and head trauma, sharpen just the slightest.

“G’nral?” is the slurred question.

Anakin keeps his voice steady, hands gentle, eyes open.

“Hey there trooper, you got a name?”

There’s a choked sob and Anakin holds the shiny’s uninjured hand as tight as he dares, “Hey, it’s over, it’s over, we won, you’re not alone, you’re not alone.”

(It’s important that the shiny knows he is not alone, that someone is here with him, that someone will hold him through the pain, be there when he breathes his last.)

Anakin is trying so hard to save him but everything he pours into the Force drips back out of the man steadily and damningly and it claws at his heart that he can not help.

There’s a moan of pain and those glazed eyes meet his as they tear up.

“ _Hurts_.” Is the only thing he says, voice shaking and in so much pain. And the burning rage that makes it’s home in Anakin’s heart wants to ignite, but that’s not what the trooper needs, that’s not what will help.

So he brushes his mechanical arm over the shiny’s forehead instead. Gently, soothingly, offering any comfort he can. He traces the outline of _Amarattu_ against the skin, as if it will help, and speaks softly, “I know, I can try to take it from you, but I can’t heal it.”

The shiny grips his flesh hand as tightly as he can (it’s so weak, he’s already so far gone), and doesn’t break eye contact as he begs, “ _Please_.”

Anakin breathes in deeply, and reaches out to the symphony of light that is the Force and grabs for the burning cold pain. He wraps it up in warmth and holds it away from the signature of the dying man before him.

He opens his eyes to a sob of relief from the shiny.

He tries again to get a name, softer this time, “What’s your name _vod_?”

The words are slurred, and the trooper is dimmer than before, (the blood on the both of them is drying), “Don’ h’ve one sir, j’st,” there’s a pained inhale and Anakin curses himself and feeds more warmth into the fading Force signature in front of him, the trooper breathes, “j’st CT-1043 sir.”

Anakin forces a smile, “Well we can’t let that stand, not when there’s still time.”

_Still time before you die_ , he leaves unsaid, but the trooper hears it still, closes his eyes in acceptance and opens them again and meets Anakin's gaze.

The next words are shaky and weak and Anakin whispers a soft prayer to Ar-Amu to not let this trooper be one of the ones who dies nameless, “I‘ve— I’ve always liked,” The trooper closes his eyes, breathes—box breathing, Anakin realizes, the shiny is trying to keep himself breathing as steadily as possible—and continues on, “I’ve always like the sound of Mav, sir.”

Anakin breathes in steadily, pours warmth into dying light, and traces _Amarattu_ over and over again on Mav’s forehead, “Any special reason?”

There’s a choked sound that could be a laugh or a sob, Mav’s voice is even weaker now, “It—it means free, sir.”

_(dukkra ba dukkra,_ the desert wind sighs to him, _dukkra ba dukkra_ his mother tells him as she kisses his forehead and dresses his wounds, _dukkra ba dukkra_ the little slave boy on Tatooine spits.)

“That’s a good name Mav.”

Mav smiles up at him, glazed eyes slowly blanking and the Force signature every living being has goes dark even as Anakin desperately shoves everything he can into helping Mav.

It would be cruel, to keep him alive just so he could suffer longer, but a small part of him desperately wants to try, wants to do everything he can to Force Mav to stay alive long enough for someone to do something.

Anakin Skywalker breathes in, once, deep and slow and exhales as he finishes tracing the _Amarattu_ on Mav’s forehead for the final time.

The words crawl out of that tiny hidden place inside of him and he speaks them into being before he even recognizes what he’s saying.

“Mav of Torrent, I laugh in the face of the war and lay you to rest with the wind, you who have found freedom in death.”

It sounds so much more formal in Basic, more awkward and strange than it ever had when the words were in _Amattaka_.

He stands, the blood that hasn’t dried yet is sticky on his clothes and on his skin, and faces the rest of Torrent.

They’re watching him, even as they go about the clean up procedures.

It feels a little like being stripped bare.

He closes his eyes, reaches out past his shields once more to find any others who need him, but this was a smaller battle, injured low and death toll lower.

(The death toll sits at 28, most of those are from the bombs that had struck the back squads hard and fast. Half of the injured are results of the same bombs, luckier perhaps due to them being just the slightest bit out of range, hit by the edges of the explosions or shrapnel instead of being blown to bits.)

Everyone who could be saved has already been saved.

There is a shiny looking at him, helmet off, and he looks sick gazing at the damaged bodies behind Anakin, a water packet in hand. He had likely been the one Anakin had heard throwing up earlier, a medic had probably already checked in on him.

Anakin makes his way towards the shiny, see’s Rex’s helmet tilt towards him, watches as some of the others follow suit.

He doesn't know what they're looking for, doesn't know what they see.

He stands next to the shiny—who still looks sick and lost and horrified—and says, gently and without judgement, "It’s not easy to see shit like this." The shiny startles, eyes cutting from the bodies to meet Anakin's gaze.

"What's your name?" He probes, can feel the horror pouring off the shiny even as the trooper tries to push it down and away.

There's a bit of silence before the shiny bites at his lip and answers, "Sneak, sir."

"Okay then Sneak, you should know that your reaction is normal, the very first time I saw a body explode I felt so sick I threw up and wouldn’t eat anything for the rest of the day. I refused to sleep because the image was too burned into my head."

Anakin doesn't mention that the first body he had seen explode had exploded from the inside, not from the outside. There is a difference there, in the type of body they leave.

(He was 3 and it is still burned into his memory, even after all these years, even after having been freed longer than he was ever enslaved.)

He shifts uncomfortably, pretends not to notice that Kix’s helmet is now fully facing him, the medic had been closer than he had thought. He hadn’t planned on sharing that with the others, but there isn’t really anything to do to fix that now.

Anakin sighs, rubs at the back of his neck with his flesh hand, "It doesn't get any easier, and you need to know that. But your reaction was a lot better than could be expected. It's not a failing on your part. No one deals well with dead bodies, especially not when bombs are involved."

Sneak winces and responds in monotone, "We're bred better than that sir. It's disgraceful for me to react that way."

Anakin bites down on his lip, hard, and shoves down the wave of rage that overtakes him at that statement.

He closes his eyes, breathes evenly and shoves everything out and into the Force as best as he can for now.

He can feel the frown on his face and turns to face Sneak, "No, it's very, very, human. You aren't a droid. You have emotions and empathy and this is your first deployment, I don't fault you for your reaction because there was nothing wrong with it."

Sneak shifts, clearly wanting to argue the point. Anakin doesn't sigh again but it's a close thing.

"Don’t beat yourself up over this, Sneak."

Sneak nods, Anakin doesn’t know how much it helps, doesn’t know if he’s gotten through to Sneak, but for right now it has to be enough.

Rex signals him over and Anakin clasps Sneak’s shoulder gently with his mechanical arm before moving away.

He purposefully keeps his gaze straight ahead, ignoring Kix's gesturing to come over and the faint trembling that’s started in his flesh hand.

Rex meets him, helmet off and under his arm and Anakin squirms.

They haven’t been a company long, and they don’t know each other well enough yet for Anakin to be able to tell what Rex wants. But he can feel the contemplation and concern that slips into the Force and it means something, even if he doesn’t know what yet.

“We’re just about done with clean up, General.”

Anakin refocuses, pulls himself away from looking at the starlight of Rex in the Force, he nods, “That’s good Captain, we should be okay to rest for a little bit before we press onward.”

Rex nods, but doesn’t move to leave.

Anakin shifts as Rex gives him a lookover, the concern gets stronger.

“None of that’s yours General?”

None of wh—.

He looks down, oh.

He’d forgotten about all the blood.

Some of it is his, from a few minor scrapes that will be fine without medical treatment, but the majority of it is from Mav and all of the other troopers whose bodies had surrounded them.

“No, it’s not mine Captain.”

Other than the slight tightening of his jaw, Rex’s face stays perfectly blank.

Rex doesn’t ask whose blood it is.

Anakin is mortifyingly glad for that.

The one day he decided not to wear the darker coloured robes he usually favours too.

He breathes in and out gently, and tries to give all of his turbulent emotions to the Force, but it _clings_ like it always does.

He bites back a growl of frustration and ignores the faint flash of concern Obi-Wan sends his way.

He’s fine.

He just—

The men have their own traditions to remember and mourn the dead and if clean up is almost done then they’ll be starting the pyre’s soon and—

Anakin _can’t_ be the only one who knows Mav’s name, refuses to let Mav’s brothers mourn using a designation instead of a name just because Mav didn’t make it.

Names are too important. Even more so when you choose it for yourself. You always call things what they are, no matter what, even if it’s only safe to do so inside your own head. Names are powerful, what you call something—what you call _someone_ —is important.

Rex shifts just the slightest, nothing big, just the slightest change in how he’s standing, but it flickers along his senses along with the swell of _concern-cautious-worry_ from the Captain.

He’s thinking far too much, letting himself get lost in his head and he needs to get himself back under some semblance of control soon.

He rubs at his face and sighs, “Do you know if there’s anyone who was close to, uh,” he shoves aside any distractions and tries to remember what Mav had said his designation was, “CT-1043?”

Rex tilts his head, brow furrowed, “I don’t know for sure General, I’d have to ask around, he was one of the shinies?”

Anakin curses and nods, “Yeah, and I uh, I really need to let anyone who was close with him know that he picked a name.”

Rex nods, “I’ll go—”

Anakin shakes his head, “No it’s fine, I can do it, thank you though Rex.”

Rex gives him a searching look and nods, “In that case sir, you could probably start by asking one of the shinies in med.”

Anakin narrows his eyes, Rex’s face is blank and his emotions are harder to read now, but he gets the distinct feeling that this is Rex’s way of throwing him to the medics.

He feels a little bit bad for ignoring Kix now, if only because he knows that the medic will be furious with him for it.

He sighs, “Got it, thanks Rex.”

Rex salutes, “No problem sir.”

Anakin watches him walk away and breathes.

(That night, there is one less _vod_ who only has a number for those left behind to say in remembrance.

When Anakin finds Mav’s last two squadmates and tells them of the name he chose, they laugh, every inhale sounding more like a sob than a laugh, and one of them—Crash (their squad had been split evenly with names and numbers. Crash is the only one still alive who has his name now)—had explained.

Mav had dreamed about life after the war, about what it would mean to be free of their duty, to be able to do what they wanted.

Anakin swallows against the bitter taste in his mouth.

Mav and his squad had only been with them for three ten-days. Anakin tries not to feel like he failed them.)

* * *

Kix intercepts him before he leaves the medbay.

And Anakin doesn’t want to talk about anything anymore, he’s already had so many old wounds ripped open, scabs over his heart reopened and bloody.

But Kix doesn’t ask him about it, and Anakin is so thankful for that fact that he submits to the check up without complaint.

He’s pretty sure Kix is trying to check for any hidden injuries or trauma responses but he’s—well, not okay, but he’s not doing awful.

Still, the minute he’s released from the medbay and as washed up as he can be while still on planet, he goes straight to his tent and curls up in clean robes.

And he doesn’t really _need_ anything, not right now.

But he would _like_ to be curled up with his _amu_ or Obi-Wan and not have to talk about anything war related. He would like to just babble about machines or the planets he’s seen and loved and the ones he’s hated— _disliked, Jedi do not hate. (That has always been one of the hardest things Anakin has had to learn, he loves with all of his being and he hates in the exact same way)—_ and just bask in that peace and love and the feeling of being cared for.

But _amu_ is dead, and Obi-Wan is deployed elsewhere, and Anakin doesn’t know how to reach out to him anymore anyways.

Something is wrong and the world as Anakin has always known it is splitting apart.

Obi-Wan feels so far away even when he’s here and Anakin doesn’t know whether that’s his fault or Obi-Wan's, the Jedi are Generals now instead of peacekeepers, and now they’ve all been placed in charge of the lives of men born, bred, and bought for the Republic’s war.

Anakin breathes, nothing is right and it’s all the war's fault.

He needs to talk to someone, needs to let everything that’s been building up in his chest out.

_Palpatine_ , he thinks, and wonders why he hadn’t thought of his old friend first.

He exhales, hugs himself tight and tries to calm himself down, he has a plan now.

Sleep, get through the rest of this campaign, and then talk to his friend. Palpatine would know what to do, the Chancellor always seemed to know just the right thing to say to make Anakin feel less alone.

(Somewhere in the universe, Darth Sideous hums, the Force has darkened, not by a lot, but by enough.

He smiles, everything is going just as well as he’d hoped.

_~~All hail the Emperor.~~_ )

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a Translations
> 
> Vode: brothers  
> Vod: brother  
> Mav: Free
> 
> Amatakka Translations
> 
> Amatakka: literally, “mother-tongue”, the Tatooine slave language  
> Amarattu: the Mother's protection  
> Ar-Amu: The Great Mother  
> dukkra ba dukkra: freedom or death (dukkra means both freedom and death)  
> amu: mother
> 
> If you want to find me other places I have a [writing tumblr](https://rose-blooms-red.tumblr.com) and a [main tumblr](https://themessofthecentury.tumblr.com)
> 
> Please come yell at me about Star Wars and DC


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